We have it all planned out. I’m sitting in the back of this shit-hole bar. I drink my whiskey- two ice cubes only. I’m not even sure what brand it is. It tastes like watered-down sadness. I’m there for about half an hour. I talk to no one. I blend into the greasy sticky vinyl like a villain in the shadows. And you come in over-dressed for this kind of establishment. You’re in a black dress. Your hemline barely reaches midway down your thighs. And your tits look as though they’re trying to escape from the oppressive torture of your bra.
You fucking whore. Who picks that kind of out fit and walks walks into a place like this? Hmm? Look at the way you smile at the despondent old man barely able to hold his head up. Look at the way you shake your ass as you walk. You’re doing that on purpose. You want every man in there to see your slut attitude. You might as well sit on the bar and spread your legs for whatever stranger that comes along and wants to throw a load into you.
I know you like it when I get worked up and angry. I wonder if you can feel it even with your back to me. Can you feel me seething as you laugh at some dumb joke the bartender makes? Do you know I want to choke you when you whip your hair around? Fucking cunt. You’re talking so loud. Your voice carries over the music playing on the 1980’s speakers in each corner of the room. Are you serious? Did you just ask for a glass of Red Zin?
The bartender pulls out a bottle off a shelf. He tries to hide the fact he needs to wipe away the dust. Now he is searching for a wine glass. I think he finds the only one he has, and he pours the wine. To my surprise, it isn’t filled with twenty-year-old soot and debris. He hands you the glass and you cross your legs letting your dress ride up your thighs even further. I shake my head. I could spit venom that would sear the floor.
You drink your drink and you text on your phone. You say “Darn, my friends are running late. We’re supposed to meet up for a few drinks before we went dancing.” You finish your wine and the bartender pours you another. He tries to talk to you and you glance up from your phone, never giving him your full attention.
What, are you too good for him? Hmm? Is he not enough man for you? You haven’t been there twenty minutes when you’re finishing the third glass of wine. Only easy little bitches would drink that quickly. Are you trying to let your inhibitions down so you can do the things you really want? I think so.
You ask the bartender if you can bum a cigarette and borrow a light. He’s more than happy to oblige. I watch as you go out the back door. I wait a few minutes, my hands are balled up into tight fights. My tendons strain. My knuckles turn white.
A few regulars stroll in and draw the bartender’s attention. I slip out of my seat and stay in the shadows as I make my way to the back. I barely open the door when I step out into the cold. There you are, rubbing the chill away from your arms as you take a long drag from your cigarette. You smile at me like I’m some friendly stranger. But that smile vanishes when I slap the cigarette from your mouth and I grab your throat slamming you against the wall.
I wish you could see your eyes. You know me but that fear is real. You see I’m not myself. The man you love is gone and in his place is this rage-filled stranger who can’t stand the sight of you. You uppity bitch. You wouldn’t ever give me a second look, but tonight I’m going to show you what it feels like to be fucked by a real man. Squeezing you tight, all I say is “Shhhh” when I flip you around. I mush your face against the cold brick and pull up your dress.
You squirm but you’re locked in under me. You reach behind trying to hit and scratch. That’s cute. It feels like foreplay. Go ahead. Fight as hard as you want. I’m twice your size and four times as strong. Holding you where I want you is as challenging as holding down a small disobedient dog. I know you feel how hard I am, pushing into you.
You start to scream and I slap my hand over your mouth. My lips are right on your ear. My hot breath is radioactive on your skin. “Are you a stupid cunt? Do you want me to really hurt you?”
You’re a sniffling whimpering little bitch when I take my hand off your mouth. You beg, “Please don’t do this.”
I’m rubbing between your legs feeling your dripping wet cunt. When my fingers are coated in your juices I shove them under your nose. “Don’t lie. Smell.” I jam my fingers in your mouth. “Taste.”
You bite down and I don’t flinch. You bite even harder. And I just keep my hand right where I want it. I push my fingers deeper into your throat. “TASTE!” I grunt in your ear. “Would you be this wet if you didn’t want this?”
When you realize your teeth can’t break the skin of my callouses you unclench your jaw. Your tongue moves across my skin like a needy slut. “That’s it I whisper. There’s the real you. There’s the fucking whore who dresses like this because she wants men like me to take whatever they want.”
You begin to cry. And I can’t tell if it’s because you’re scared of what’s about to happen or if you are scared that you want what’s about to happen. I rip your panties off in one yank and drop them on the dirty ground. I unzip my fly and force myself into you. Fuck, you’re so wet. You’re so tight. You try to get out from under me. And I run my fingers seductively through your hair before I grab hold and yank your head back. Your neck is stretched to its breaking point, and my lips are on your cheek. I lick your face.
“The more you struggle, the more you turn me on. Keep fighting. Please. Nothing is gonna stop me.” Real tears fall from your eyes onto me. And I know that this is as authentic as it can be. This is the closest we can get to being on the edge without falling off. And it’s so fucking good to be here with you- to lose myself in this role and to see you lose yourself. “You fucking bitch. Cunt. Slut. Whore.”
My body slams into you and it is one hundred percent for my pleasure. My dick cuts into you like I’m stabbing you over and over, ripping into whatever illusions of control you had. In my world, you’re a powerless little bitch and I’m here to remind you of that. Pulling out your tits, I squeeze them like I want to rip them off. At some point, the fight leaves you and you’re holding completely still, almost like you’re a corpse. And maybe you are. Maybe I am killing parts of you that need to die so new parts of you can grow in their place.
Sink into that helpless feeling. Drift deeper into the murky dark. Hold onto it and let it stay with you for days and weeks after I take what I need from your slutty body. “You wanted this all along you stupid whore. I knew you were teasing me the moment you walked into the bar.” Sob if you need to. I won’t comfort you. Not for one second. At least not yet. I might spit on your face. I might choke the life out of you. I want it to feel like every time you try to come up for air I stomp you back down- back down where you belong- where you’ve always belonged.
“Fuck you, bitch,” I groan as cum surges out of my cock and into you. “Take it. Take all of me. You know you want it. You know you love it.” I pulse and throb deep inside your abused cunt. Your body betrays you because it feels so good. Your tears don’t fool me. Your trembling doesn’t camouflage how grateful you are that I stripped every ounce of power away from you.
When I pull out you don’t move. I leave you there shaking like you’re shivering but we both know you’re not. Your body is boiling. Your blood is bubbling inside you and my cum is trickling down your leg.
The Cerebral Sir 